I spent the first part of February down with the flu for almost 2 1/2 weeks. Once I was able to get out of bed without wanting to collapse the first thing I did was to start/continue cleaning out my apartment.
I’ve rearranged pictures. Ordered a new, brighter colored comforter and curtains for my bedroom. Finally sorted through and put away the little piles of stuff I had in my kitchen. It became my personal mission to find at least five things every day that I could either donate or throw out.
I’m not done, but I’m amazed at the results. Both external and internal.
I’m very conscious of the vacuums in my life at the moment. I feel the pull of space around me; can physically feel the spaces that have opened up in my life.
Sitting in this space feels like how I imagine it feels to sit on the cusp of a black hole. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there. You feel the nothingness swirling around you. Being aware of the openness and simultaneously that time is slipping by you like a nearby star…it’s odd.
And it’s most definitely not because things aren’t happening, or that I’m not getting them done. Quite the contrary. It’s feeling stationary when everything is moving around you because from the outside, it looks like everyone is accelerating while you’re staying still. It reality, it’s recognizing that your waypoints have shifted. You aren’t in the same galaxy anymore.
I am not comfortable in this space, but this time around, it’s…easier? That’s not quite right; it’s not easy to be in the space of waiting and openness. I’ve been here before, I got through it before, and I know I’ll get through it again. It’s a space of not knowing what comes next.
It’s a space of not knowing what comes next, with all the beauty and terror that implies.
And yes, I’m still writing.